Glimpses of Sara

My mom and I when we visited the butterfly museum last summer.

Me and my poison ivy–not thrilled with each other even a week after it appeared.

(When you’re not great at shooting selfies while driving, transform them into sketches…. ) While I did ask my son how I looked before I left for my first day on the job, I didn’t think about shooting a photo — until I reached my first STOP sign. I look more happy than anxious. :)

My friend Robena and I took a selfie prior to embarking on the Dash for Diabetes 5K Saturday morning.

A selfie of my mother and I on my last visit.

Stars upon thar driver licenses…

Me, this morning, with the trusty float destined to save me from all the denizens of the deep — and the shallows.

Loving being with my husband

The fun before the storm… Little Orange Riding Hood and her sister Trish with unruly, not overly photogenic or cooperative football fans in the background. Did these people not feel the raindrops splashing around us? This was the weekend before the Nightmare with Coughin’ began…

Temporarily pouting, but permanently enlightened!

Daughter-in-love and mother-in-love. :)

Stainless steel frames with progressive, no-line bifocal lenses that are photochromatic and have a premium oleophobic anti-reflective coating for a mere $136.26 shipped to my mailbox in two weeks or less. Zenni, you should hire me to advertise for you.)

My son after his final performance in “Beauty and the Beast.” He played both a beast and a prince perfectly… just like in real life. :)

So it poured rain the day of commencement, which meant it was a bad hair day. But it was a great day with my new, old friends anyway!

Adam and I a mere six years ago…

That would be me…. and, yes, I am smiling behind the mask.

Actually, I was holding the pitchfork, and I wasn’t smiling…

Spontaneous selifes by way of illustration: The two on the left were done with modern technology, me looking at what would be the mirror image WYWIWYG. The right one, quasi modern, digital smartphone camera but holding it as I would a traditional camera.

Stand by your work…

My friend Kathy and I walked to the arts festival just after we said goodbye to her handyman friend, who was busy revamping her spare bedroom. He had already worked magic in remodeling her small kitchen and bathroom as well as replaced the windows and sliding glass door with more energy efficient models.

As we neared the street littered with people and canopies of various works of art, Kathy told me that her handyman was a talented artist who could leverage sales by showing his wares at art festivals, but that he did not want to man a booth.

“Festivals such as these,” she said to me, “require the artists to be present the entire time.”

We chattered as we walked against the flow of foot traffic, finally caving to the masses as we cut across to go with the flow, then stopping in the various booths of paintings, drawings, photography, jewelry, ceramics, sculptures, clothing and all sorts of mixed media. Kathy specifically did not want to purchase anything.

“Do not let me buy anything,” she had told me adamantly as we had walked to the downtown area for the festival.

(The only thing that saved her from buying a framed photo was the artist himself, not me. “Ooh! It’s nice,” I had told her when she showed me the glossy full-color print framed in weathered, lime-green painted wood. I was halfheartedly flipping through the prints framed in window panes and was not, apparently, taking my job as her anti-purchaser seriously. “Where would you put it?” Just then she spied the photographer and quizzed him about the location of shot. Thankfully, it was a place that had left her with bad memories — and she quickly returned the picture to its tray and left the booth. “You,” she told me pointedly, “were absolutely no help.” Oops.)

I was open to a purchase if a piece were to call to me strongly, but the thought of dusting anything else was enough to keep me immune from the visual cues around me. We mostly perused the booths we found interesting and dodged people, enjoying the sights and smells and the glories of a most beautiful spring day.

Having once covered the art beat at the local newspaper for the weekly entertainment magazine, I looked for artists I recognized. The scene had changed a lot in the 20 years since my departure from journalism. I saw only a few artists I had known.

Some of the art — not all — merited a closer look, and so we entered the covered areas, weaving through each 12 x 12 foot maze, attempting to better see the intricate details and the volume of work presented. Some of the booths were crowded, and we were in danger of trampling or being trampled in the close quarters. The artists were present, some awash in potential buyers asking questions, some stoic as the masses passed by them.

I felt a bit sorry for the artists whose booths gained little attention.

As we passed by the last of the stationed artists and left the crowd behind, Kathy again mentioned her friend John and his reluctance to stand by his work as the hours and crowds passed at festivals. Having seen the swarmed or ignored artists, I think we both understood him better, and we began discussing how hard it would be to stand beside your art while people underappreciated it. After all, Kathy and I were not the only ones leaving the festival empty-handed.

“It would be like standing beside my blog,” I concluded.

It brought to mind those times when I’ve handed my writing to someone to get an opinion on the spot. The inner questioning when the reader gave no immediate response. The automatic defense if a negative comment was given or question was asked — by someone who clearly did not understand. I far prefer the kudos, but, regardless, I feel compelled to share my work.

Posting a blog is like hosting a booth in an art show, really. Sometimes the traffic passes your booth altogether. Or casually looks and moves on. Or examines intently and openly likes your work. Or even offers a comment or two or requests to follow your work.

But posting a blog is easier than standing by your work in a booth on the street. A blogger can walk away rather than watch traffic stats or look people in the eye or overhear attendees make comments maybe not meant to be heard by the artist at all.

Showing your art or writing for public consumption is like offering your heart, your very self — and chancing rejection. It isn’t just a technique or a style or the juxtaposition of color or fiber or paints or ink or words and punctuation or keys tapped on a computer. It is heart and soul offered.

I was sorry Kathy’s friend hadn’t been standing by, showing his work at the festival. I would have liked to have seen it — just because I’d seen the artistry of what he’d accomplished at my friend’s small house.

But I could certainly understand his sentiment.

———-

“Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain” — 1 Corinthians 15:58 (NIV).

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Sara

I have a desire to write something that will change the world. This blog is one little step out of my currently overfilled life of working, parenting, being a wife, housekeeper, laundress, hostess, cheerleader, beader, reader, and leader... When I write, I feel a bit more sane, even if said writing exposes my insanity. Go figure.
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